Save Me
by PlonkerOnDaLoose
Summary: The first time she saved him, he didn't even know her name. KYRO
1. The First Time

God, I haven't written one of these in HOW LONG?!? So, forgive me, I'm a little rusty. Like, a lot! lol — and a huge shout out to my beta, _airo25_. Gotta love her.

**

* * *

Save Me.**

_  
I said maybe  
You're going to be the one who saves me  
And after all  
You're my wonderwall  
_'Wonderwall' — Oasis

. . .

The First Time**  
**

The first time Kitty Pryde saved John Allerdyce they were just kids, maybe fourteen. She was the new girl, he was old school, probably hadn't said two words to each other. It was a party of some sorts, someone's birthday, and they all crowded in the rec room, ready for cake. Jean had bought it from the fancy bakery that just opened in the mall between Starbucks and a shop that sold rhinestone earrings at ten dollars a pair. The pavlova, an explosion of cream and meringue, strawberries and kiwis—Kitty knew this because she made it her business to know these things, to know everything, just like she knew John, that sketchy kid with the OCD lighter habit—_clack. whisper. clack_—the kind of boy her father wouldn't let inside the house if she took him home. Which she would never do, no way. Nothing against the guy, she didn't know him, like, only he looked super-sketchy and wasn't her type.

His friend, on the other hand...

But Bobby Drake's bone structure wasn't the issue here—John was. Just that morning, Kitty had seen Jean rifling through her bag for something or other—keys, cell, change, gum, gun, whatever—and she took out some HUGE needle, all wrapped up in a little case. Kitty asked what it was for. A needle that big, she had to know.

"One of the students has a serious nut allergy," Jean confided in her, losing the needle again in her bag. "I carry this just in case he eats one by accident and goes into anaphylactic shock."

Or, in the case of Sketchy John, on purpose: for a dare, for a bet, to freak out Summers, to miss a history quiz, for attention. This is what Kitty figured—that's the kind of thing John would do. Not that she knew him, like. She just figured. And for the first time, in a long time, Kitty Pryde was wrong.

Kitty got her pavlova first because she was sitting next to Storm, chief cutter, wielding the bread knife. She was starving and didn't hesitate. Something hard in her mouth, not melting with the cream. Kitty spat it out. A nut (a _cashew _nut, to be precise, and being precise is important). A mistake on the chef's part, maybe, an isolated incident? Or maybe not.

Maybe not.

John sat on the opposite side of the room, blocked off by so many, many people, people all going _RAWLRAWLRAWL _so there was no way her little voice would carry. She could stand on a table. Tell an adult. What if she didn't get there in time? Storm was serving a green-haired girl five seats from John. Visions of him writhing on the floor in some unimaginable pain but unable to scream, flopping like a fish out of water, eyes rolling to white, stupid lighter clattering to the floor. Where would Jean stick the needle? His leg? His stomach? His throat?

His heart?

Storm passed along a plate of pavlovato Bobby.

And Kitty ran for it.

"John! John!" She yelled his name, sprinting through solid objects, couches, empty pizza boxes, people. "John!"

Stopped up short two inches from him.

"John."

"Don't wear it out," John smirked, a loaded forkful hovering halfway to his mouth. He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Kitty gestured at the cake (_PAVLOVA_). "The cake. Pavlova. Don't eat it."

John glared at her as if she was trying to deprive him of his first-born son or his stupid lighter or something equally precious.

"Why the hell not?" He went to shove the fork in his mouth, defiant. Watching her.

Kitty waved her cashew triumphantly. "It's got nuts in it!"

John put down the fork. Poked around with his finger, make sure she wasn't taking the piss (what use was cake if you couldn't fucking eat it, yeah?). He unearthed two cashews. Was it her imagination or had he gone paler? Thinking about what could have been, should have been. Bobby, too, a little green. But soooooooo cute.

"John!" Professor Summers appeared out of nowhere, urgent and professor. "The cake has nuts in it. I've just found one. It might be a mistake but I wouldn't risk it, if I we– " He stopped, looking down at the tiny lumps of cream in John's hand. Professor Summers cleared his throat. "It's nice to see you being responsible about something."

John shook his head. "She told me."

"Oh, I see. Well done, Kitty. That's what I like to see. Friends looking out for each other. That's the right attitude." He left Kitty glowing with pride, but a part of her worried that John would laugh. Call her a teacher's pet. That's the kind of thing he would do, right?

"Thanks."

Kitty jumped. Unexpected. She looked down to see him looking up at her. His eyes weren't brown, not like she'd expected, or green, or that gross hazel colour that can't make up it's fricking mind. They were blue. And nice.

"It's okay," Kitty said breathlessly. "No big deal."

John nodded slowly. "How did you know?" he asked, curious. "About me?"

Kitty panicked. "Kinda saw the needle. Totally by accident, like I wasn't stalking you or anything. Just Jean took it out and I was there and I aske– " John laughed and this made her relax. "I'm sorry. For knowing. I shouldn't have asked. Sorry."

"Don't be. Still alive, ain't I?"

"No, man, I'd have saved you," Bobby said through a strawberry.

John snorted. "If I'm relying on you, I might as well take my chances with a switchblade."

"A rusty switchblade."

"With AIDs."

"But you'd be dead, so how could you get AIDs?"

"I wouldn't die the second I cut my throat. I'd have to bleed out first– "

"Which would take, I dunno, ten seconds. Can't get AIDs in ten seconds."

Kitty opened her mouth to say that, actually, like, you couldn't get AIDs from a contaminated knife, only HIV, but the words never came. John had cream on his nose.

Kinda cute.

"What would you know?" he demanded. "You got AIDs?"

She retreated. Finished her pavlova. Jubilee asked questions but Kitty had nothing to say. John still had cream on his nose when Scott told them all to go to bed.

Jubilee had gone ahead, something about straightening her hair before she had a shower, and Kitty meandered slowly back to their dorm. Thinking. About saving people and Bobby's cheekbones and her bed and the cream on John's nose and the calculus test on Friday.

Outside, across the courtyard, a shortcut. Kitty drew her cardigan tighter about her thin shoulders. It was mohair—her mother brought it back from vacation in Milan—but not warm, and Kitty shivered.

"Hey. You. Nut Patrol."

She stopped, looked around, eyes stinging in the dark. A frail light flickered and smoke rose upwards, footsteps, light and fast. John took a drag and threw her a grin.

"Hey. You. Too." Kitty scuffed her All Stars (pink, with black laces). She could recite the first fifty elements in twenty-nine seconds but boys made the words dry up. She hugged her cardigan, hiding last week's nail polish in the long sleeves.

"Thanks. For tonight. You, uh..." He ran a head through his head, a little hesitant, a little awkward. "You saved my life."

Kitty blushed. "I hardly saved your life, like. Just some hassle. Jean would've totally spiked you with her way huge needle and you'd be fine. I saw it this morning."

John shook his head.

Kitty frowned. That made, like, no sense. "But the needle? The shot?"

"It's epinephrine. Not magic fairy dust."

Epinephrine. Also called adrenaline.

So it would go into his heart then.

"So you'd be ...?"

"Fucked?"

Kitty nodded.

John nodded.

Kitty shivered. John did something magical, made this fireball. He held it out to her. Kitty hung back.

"I won't burn you," he said. Nervous, she inched forward. "C'mon. You're freezing. Hold out your hands."

She did as she was told.

With the touch of mother, John deposited his baby in her cradled hands. The fire ball hovered, small and hot and red, some tiny sun, burning all for Kitty Pryde.

"Thanks."

"Figured I owed you," he replied lightly, lighting up again. "Ever saved a life before?"

Kitty shook her head. Thinking. How faint is human life if one little nut, size of her thumbnail, can kill? Thinking things like that hurt. She shivered.

"C'mon," he said, throwing away the cigarette. "Walk you in."

They reached the door. She wanted him to walk her back to her dorm. Say nice things in the corridor, just loud enough for Jubilee to hear through the door. But he turned left, saying, "Later, Nut Patrol."

The first time Kitty Pryde saved John Allerdyce, he didn't even know her name.

"John," she called after him, because she knew his name, sketchy jerk.

"Yeah?"

"You've got cream on your nose."

* * *

So..... What are we thinking? I'm thinking of expanding this into a shortish fic. Yay or nay? Thanks, plonksie


	2. The Second Time

**Disclaimer: **don't own X-Men, and Pyro isn't stashed under my bed. Or Remy. Nope. Just odd socks and Pokemon cards

**

* * *

Save Me.**

_I said maybe  
You're going to be the one who saves me  
And after all  
You're my wonderwall  
_'Wonderwall' — Oasis

. . .

The Second Time**  
**

The second time, it was an accident. Or maybe destiny. Same difference. And she didn't really save him, only facilitated it. Did that count?

The call was of the anonymous nature, the kind that makes you wonder, if this a trap, or is someone just too good for their own good. After an hour of wandering the complex, she was definitely erring on the former. The place, this great sprawl of white tiles and long, steel corridors, it looked just like any other research centre, with nosy air conditioning and greasy fries. Logan grumbled as they reassembled, Rogue and Remy bickering their way around the sexual tension, Storm and Hank talking in hushed voices. Bobby tried to catch her eye, throw her a smile, but she looked down at her shoes instead. Suddenly they were fascinating.

"Hey," he said, his hand on her back. Comforting? "You okay? You look a little spooked."

She scuffed her boot. "Well, it's spooky."

"Yeah. C'mon, let's, uh, let's go back to the jet. Start it up."

When she didn't move, he made to pull her forwards, pull her to him, but she was a little too lost in her own world, a stumbled, sideways, and through.

Her phasing had been off recently.

This room was a solid cube, everywhere, screens. And the scenes they depicted, they were nothing like the building she had just combed. They were cells, people, banging off walls; empty corridors, men pacing up and down, caps pulled low, guns ready. Kitty couldn't hear the screaming, but she could smell it.

She stayed in the operations room, watch duty, as Logan and Bobby and Pete ran up and down the corridors, jumping from screen to screen. Lights flashed and bleated as she tapped on keyboards, opening doors. When she couldn't find the password, Logan simply ripped the doors apart. They freed two dozen, all Mutants, all with that air of nastiness that makes them movie bad guys. Only they didn't look like bad guys, not today.

There was one screen, still full. Three men, a table, a victim. Kitty held her comm. device up to her ear, guiding her white knights towards the last room. It was a box, a stone box.

"I can't get in," Logan muttered. She watched him slam up against the door. "I can't get in."

"We can't leave him!" Storm cried.

They were looking up at her, strained faces in the camera, beckoning her down.

"Get yo' game face on Shadowcat." That was Remy. He had tried to blast the door open, but it held.

When they called her that, Shadowcat, she felt like a different person. She didn't feel like a person at all. On the tiny screen, there was punching and kicking, and she was no doctor, but what they did to his shoulder, she could hear things rip through the fuzzy glass.

Kitty slipped through the floor and landed, like a cat, next to Bobby. He pointed her right. "That one."

For steel so thick, it didn't contain the screams. They were all watching her now, everybody. She recognised some of them, from past encounters, some as far back as Alcatraz. There was a girl, a pretty redhead of about her age, with raccoon eyes and blood, crusting. "_Prosze_," she said. She sounded foreign. "_Prosze_.Please."

Kitty nodded. It wasn't that she didn't want to, it was only that she didn't want to disappoint. She took a breath. She always held her breath.

Two men held him down, on his knees, one hand splayed across the scrubbed table. There was blood, hot and salt. The third man held a hammer.

"Look, kid, I'm gonna make this simple as doh, reh, mi. We know who you are. And we know you know where the X-Men are. And, hey, kid, look at me– "

They twisted him, forcing him to look.

Kitty released the breath. Mist wafted through the salty air. The men were only men; they didn't notice.

"You're gonna fucking tell me."

He spat out, red, on the floor. "Go to Hell."

The hammer, rose, fell, and there was a wet, squishing, tearing sound. A pause. A scream. Kitty wasn't sure if it came from her, or not.

She came back, a second later, Logan in tow. He was curled up on the floor, hand still taped to the table, blood dripping off the edge. Steady. Drip.

Kitty eased away the duct tape, slick with blood. She tried not to look. It wasn't really a hand, not anymore. He slithered to the floor. She didn't know what to say, so she held him instead, smoothing back his hair while he vomited. Logan helped them out.

Later, in the jet, him, unconscious with his head in her lap, Bobby pretending not to look, Storm came over with a look on her face. She crouched down beside them. Laid a hand to his forehead.

"Hank says he tried, but ..."

The two women exchanged looks. The bandages, so very white, was turning red already. "Look, Kitty. This is serious. What we just did."

"I know that," Kitty said. "I'm not little kid."

Storm smiled, a sad little thing. She brushed back a stray strand that had escaped Kitty's ponytail. "I know that."

"So tell me."

The best they could do was an old house of the Professor's, buried in the countryside. It had a long porch and an empty rocker and all around were pine trees, blue through the heat haze. "Here." Storm handed her a comm. device. "We'll be listening."

Logan carried him, still unconscious, up to the house. Banged his head off the doorpost.

"Thanks," Kitty said, pocketing it. She breathed deeply. The air here was hot and dry and baked her lungs. Storm surveyed her, this young woman, for a long moment, and then folded her into an embrace.

"You don't have to do this, Kitty. There are other people who could stay."

Kitty shrugged. "It's only for a little while, like you said. Until this dies down. And besides, they must have seen me too. Maybe it's for the best."

"You were very brave to volunteer," Storm said. "Especially, considering ..."

Kitty looked past her. Bobby stood on the gangplank. Staring at her. She waved goodbye, and he smiled, tightly. He didn't wave back.

Kitty and Storm climbed the old steps together. They creaked, groaning. Dark stains pitter-pattered across the porch. Kitty gulped. Storm squeezed her shoulder. "You saved them all, Kitty. If it wasn't for you, if you hadn't discovered that room."

How was it, that grown ups always knew what you were thinking?

"I could have stopped them. I just stood there." A confession, "I was scared."

Scared, because, just the tiniest, darkest part of her wanted to see him scream. This was twice she had saved John Allerdyce, only this time, she wasn't so sure he deserved it. But that didn't stop her sitting up, all night long, just watching him breathe.


End file.
